The Cards
by teawithmochi
Summary: Shinichi begins to see hearts everywhere, Ran can't stop laughing, and Kaito can never seem to do things the normal way. But that's just him. KaiShin. ShinRan friendship.


The Cards

Or, Love Makes People Become Stalkers—No, Really

SUMMARY: Shinichi begins to see hearts everywhere, Ran can't stop laughing, and Kaito can never seem to do things the normal way. But that's just him. KaiShin. ShinRan friendship.

A/N: I honestly didn't know where I was going with this when I first began. Certainly didn't expect this to end up so long either. Oh well. Oh, and it ends kind of abruptly. Happy Valentine's Day!

Shinichi sighed as he toed his typical work loafers off, bending down to align the shoes and place them in their proper places at the foot of his hallway. Work that day had been awful. Dreadful. Horrendous. Really, there was no other way about it―it was probably the worst work day he'd ever had in his entire life, including that time when he'd had to solve a serial bombing case out in the middle of a blizzard while defusing the bomb on live television. Actually, it could be the worst day in his life, period. Nearly dying and becoming Conan had nothing on this.

At twenty years old, Shinichi was the advisor for Beika's MPD. As he was still in university, he didn't exactly have a job, per se (not that it would matter what with the job offers―all the agencies had wanted to snap him up right out of high school after all), so he wasn't exactly working yet. Oh, he earned a paycheck for every case he solved, but it wasn't something as uniform as coming into work and going home. Shinichi just… did stuff. Any cases that were deemed unsolvable were forwarded to him and solved within the day.

The arrangement was a pretty lenient one, if rather cushiony. Still, it also accounted for other matters, not just ordinary cases that he could solve with maybe ten minutes and a cup of coffee. No; sometimes some certain _unnamable_ investigators were so incompetent that they had to rely on him to do their job. They just dragged him in, expecting him to work―what was he, an automaton? Shinichi wasn't an android they could simply call in whenever they wanted and be told to track this guy or break this code or stalk this woman or blah. He could honestly care less at this moment in time, and sometimes he missed the days where _he_ had to nose _his_ way into a case instead of being sucked in. As it was, with the way he'd always helped the police, it was expected of him to solve everything, protests or no.

So, with seven unrelated cases (four murders, one suicide, two frauds), one spilt (wasted) pot of coffee, two bumbling, confidant officers, and one fat greedy client, that day had not ended well. And for this, Shinichi wasn't even getting paid. What a useless day.

And he still had a twenty-thousand-word essay for university due tomorrow morning, and he hadn't even started on it yet. The detective groaned and shuffled into his kitchen.

Whereas in his younger days Shinichi couldn't cook, now he was actually proficient within the kitchen, and―dare he say it?―a rather decent chef. While he wasn't a five star chef, he could cook something more elaborate than a simple stew of chicken and vegetables boiled in pre-made stock. He could _do something_, and boy did his inability to make even ramen noodles rankle him as a teenager.

The man stretched his arms and shoulders, hearing the kinks pop with some satisfaction. Shinichi loosened his tie and made for his pots with ease, simultaneously reaching into his refrigerator for some beef he had marinated earlier for his soup. He busied himself with cooking, slicing this and cutting that, if only to take his mind off of the earlier matters of that day. He was home. Stress could go take a hike.

As the savory aromas of sizzling meat and simmering soup wafted through the air, Shinichi smiled and closed his eyes, browning his beef with practiced ease. In his left hand he gripped his pan, tossing the meat, and in his right he stirred the contents of his large pot, taking a small sample of the unfinished product. Oh. Could use some more oregano and basil.

It was gratifying, Shinichi mused. His memories wandered back to a time when he couldn't make anything but watery tea and lemon pie.

Being Conan was the chapter in his life that the man regarded as the most important to him. It was during this time that he had learnt humility and self-preservation. He learnt to curb his recklessness. He learnt to deduce faster and more accurately than he would have been able to had he not been infantilized. It was the great, humbling, learning chapter of his existence.

The present, as he had been so fond of pondering on all those years ago, wasn't as exciting as he'd hoped it would be. Just more exhausting. Irritating. Definitely not full of riches.

Shinichi still lived at the Kudou mansion. His parents continued to live as they pleased, coming home separately or rarely in pairs on special occasions like birthdays and the odd Christmas. He was used to the touch and go relationship though, honestly. The couple no doubt loved each other, but they would always be the dynamic couple―within them both that he hadn't inherited was a wanderlust that carried them all over to the farthest reaches of the world. He used to travel with them as a child, but come his thirteenth birthday, he'd wanted to be grounded. So they left him, no complaints necessary.

So he was fine with living alone, even if maybe the house seemed too empty.

With the mansion came the responsibility of cleaning it all. In truth, while Shinichi would like to say that he did, in fact, maintain his home, he couldn't, not really. It would be lying. Most days he couldn't be bothered to clean up his room as he mainly hung around in his dome shaped construct of a library. The library was his main living space. If he could help it (and he did), Shinichi would sleep in there (which he also did) all of the time (which he did not, because those couches were honestly too soft).

With a last flourish, Shinichi transferred his beef and vegetables to a large plate, taking from it a small portion that he would eat with his slightly bland soup that would accommodate his meat. A final taste and he grinned, relocating to his ever present, beloved library.

As he ate, Shinichi perused a pristine, though somewhat worn copy of _A Study in Scarlet_, eyes trailing along long memorized passages and lengths of dialogue. His thumb held the edges of the pages down, wrist flicking to jump forward in the novel. He chuckled at how different this Holmes was to the other incarnations of him, though it was to be expected—he _had_ just been introduced to the world, and there had been room for character development still.

With his spoon hanging from his mouth, Shinichi flipped through the book a couple of more times, eventually replacing it back on his old, mahogany bookshelf. He dragged his briefcase onto his desk with torpor and opened it to peer inside. There were a couple case notes that he hadn't gotten around to before that he had to look over now. Shinichi chewed thoughtfully on his last bit of meat, then swallowed and downed the last of his soup.

…Wait a second; what was that at the bottom of the bowl?

Shinichi blinked, gulped the last bit of soup and slowly lowered his inclined head, placing the soup bowl onto the table. What the…

Carefully, the detective pinched a corner of the red piece of paper (it was surprisingly dry) and stared at it, noting that the heart shape was perfectly cut and decorated with gold. He shook it tentatively. Nope. Nothing dangerous here. Placing the card beside his briefcase with his mind whirling a mile a minute, Shinichi inhaled and peered at it some more.

Why had it been in his soup?

His lips pursed, eyes narrowing. Once again using his forefinger and thumb, Shinichi turned the card (high quality, thick card stock) over, noting the smooth surface. The thing must have cost a lot. In fact, he recognized this stationary—it came from that specialized store in Ekoda, and Shinichi would never have remembered it had he not seen the price tag and been floored during that case where the previous owner of the shop had been murdered by his wife.

So whoever had gotten him this card (how did they get it into his soup without noticing, getting it wet, or letting him notice as he ate, anyways?) had spent quite a bit of time and money on it. The heart shape didn't come pre-made, and the bordering of gold ink along the edges must have been painstaking to do. Shinichi honestly didn't know anyone capable or willing enough to do something like this.

Didn't hide the fact that the gesture was seriously creepy, but when was the last time anyone had given him anything? After he had come clean about Conan to Ran, any pursuable relationship had gone, and presently they held a mutual sibling relationship. His parents wouldn't get him something like this. The action in itself was almost… heartfelt (no pun intended).

There was one sole word left on the card. It was his name, simple enough, written in elaborate calligraphy.

Sighing, Shinichi decided to set the card and his thoughts aside and rolled his shoulders. He didn't have time for this, as intriguing as the matter was, and that case and his essay couldn't wait.

.

He'd found another one two hours later, and this time Shinichi couldn't help his bemusement. How… _How_?

The heart stuck stubbornly to his showerhead, and the detective was pretty sure _it hadn't been there_ the moment he'd entered the bathroom. This was getting…odd.

Shaking his head, Shinichi carefully pulled the card from the nozzle and placed it beside his fresh, fluffy towel for after his shower. He didn't know why, but loftily ripping the item away seemed almost rude and harsh. After the pieces of tape were peeled off safely, Shinichi observed the gold lining again (oh, it was different than before) before he stripped and stepped into the warm spray of water.

…Was it his imagination, or had he just heard the sound of a cat being strangled?

Shinichi blinked. Nah. It was probably nothing.

The man felt his recent stress physically melt from his bones with the sweat of a day's work walking all the way across town for cases. He sighed happily, threading fingers and suds throughout his slick hair, and simply stood there beneath the hot water, basking in the warmth after the last of the soap and bubbles disappeared down the drain. A long shower wouldn't affect his water bills all that much, and besides, he deserved it for having to put up with Ichikawa all day. The rookie was way in over his head and didn't even know it.

After approximately ten minutes, Shinichi shut the water off with a last mournful glance and stepped onto the linoleum tiles of his bathroom once more. He grabbed his towel and threw it around his hips before exiting, yawning briefly as a result of his late night. Oh, he was tired, and he hadn't even gotten any coffee before because Fujioka had dropped the pot in the main lounge when he tripped over Ichikawa's gun holster. Good gods, but he was so tired all the time now.

Was it too late for another shower?

The college student grabbed another towel on his way out of the bathroom, drying his face and rubbing it against his wet hair. He'd just finished his essay, and it was… Ah, two o'clock in the morning. Shinichi made his way to his room for a pair of pajamas—the only reason he still went there nowadays—and dragged out a worn set, his fingers running along faint mint green lines and forest green buttons. He remembered this set. Ran had given it to him for his fifteenth birthday.

Five years, huh? Shinichi held the shirt to his chest and shrugged. He hadn't grown much since high school. His arms slipped into the familiar fabric and he pulled on a pair of shorts before tugging his feet through the pajama bottoms. He really should have taken a shower earlier, but between the new theory he gotten for that case and writing his essay, there hadn't been much time to do so; Shinichi liked to finish his work in long bouts instead of in chunks. He always felt that if he didn't he'd lose his train of thought and miss something interesting.

Shinichi scratched his neck and huffed. Normally he wouldn't complain about work, but lately everything was just so… irritating. And bland. There wasn't much action beside the mundane, usual deaths that, he had to admit, bored him. There was no creativity. Everything he saw now at work—that wasn't even work, anyways—he had seen already. Multiple times, in fact.

Something told him that he'd been hanging around corpses more frequently in a year than the average detective did in his or her lifetime.

The thought was not reassuring.

As a semi-nocturnal creature, Shinichi usually did not sleep much, and spent three nights out of each week mainly on cases and schoolwork. He was a perfectionist. Anything that he had to do, well, he did it in such a way it was without a doubt that he'd receive top marks or be spot on in an investigation. It was just his inherent nature.

As a result, Shinichi's life revolved around work. The majority of the day could be found in the middle of a case or in a seminar, where he simultaneously wrote his essays and took notes. The detective practically lived on coffin polish—err, that was, college student coffee—and couldn't spend a day without it. He was rather certain that he'd developed an addiction. Another thing, he mused thoughtfully, that related him to Sherlock Holmes (as unintentional as it was).

So it was with this in mind that Shinichi wandered back into his kitchen and set his coffeemaker to work. He yawned, ignoring the notion of sleep (sleep, what is this sleep you speak of?), and slumped back onto his chair. If anything, maybe, _maybe_ he'd be able to sneak in a couple hours of sleep before his day truly began anew. All of his work was finished, though with his luck there'd be another three-in-the-morning death to contend with once he'd just gotten comfy.

Some thirty minutes passed as Shinichi sat there, sipping slowly on a cup of his coffee. He set the rest of the batch aside to be brewed once again in another, stronger batch of coffee for tomorrow.

Ten minutes passed, and Shinichi began to doze off. He got up and headed to his room for a bit of rest.

The phone in his pocket rang.

Damn it. He was never going to get any sleep, was he?

.

"Ah, hello? Was there something you needed, Ran?" Shinichi felt his neck contort oddly to the position it was in, mobile phone held in a wobbly grip on his shoulder. His hands busied themselves slicing tomatoes for his lunch so he couldn't hold the device with his fingers. While used to the position, it always felt weird to the detective; perhaps it was that he was more accustomed to tilting his neck a different way to hold his violin. Still, despite the inconvenience, a smile overcame his face.

He hadn't spoken to Ran in nearly a month. The two attended different universities; after high school, Ran had decided to pursue martial arts professionally. Currently, she studied at Aoyama Gakuin in Shibuya while he had decided to stick closer to home and attend Beika Institute. It wasn't a bad thing, that they had decided to do their own things, but the distance made for a sort of nostalgic and loose relationship. It reminded him of his time as Conan, when he'd steal away every once in a while to call her and remind them both that he was still alive. They weren't joined at the hip anymore. Shinichi supposed graduating had helped them both.

Over the phone, Ran smiled and wiped her forehead with a towel. She sat down on a bench and observed the other members of her dojo match up in spars.

"Hi, Shinichi! I just wanted to see what you were up to. You how you get—without someone to remind you, you skip important meals and hole yourself away from the world. I bet you haven't even had lunch yet, have you?" The reproving tone in her voice caused Shinichi to sheepishly grin.

"Ahaha, you're right," he said as he finished up slicing his tomatoes. He wiped his hands on a clean towel and held his phone in his palm, making his way towards the sandwich he was preparing. "But I'm in the middle of making my lunch now at least."

"Mou, it's already three in the afternoon! I know you have Wednesdays free from university, so what could you possibly be doing that you'd forget to eat?" Ran scowled over on her end, and the underclassmen around her backed away slightly in fear. "I bet you just decided to reread your entire series of Sherlock Holmes books again, didn't you!"

Shinichi chuckled as he assembled his aioli. "Guilty as charged. But it's not my fault! Seriously, the past couple of days have been rather slow. I don't know why, but for some inexplicable reason there haven't been any murder cases at all!"

Ran rolled her eyes. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Doesn't this mean you get a break from being called in to handle them?"

"Well yeah, but it's just so odd. I feel like maybe I'm finally getting some luck—you know how cursed I am. Do you think I'm getting lucky? Maybe I should try for the lottery!"

The karate master quirked a brow. "Stop joking. So, it's your ultra rare day off, and you decide to waste it away on reading?"

Shinichi drizzled his aioli over his toasted bread and layered on some salad and roasted turkey. "Reading is good! I like reading. Sherlock Holmes is good for the soul." He paused to take a bite from his finished sandwich, and his voice dropped slightly in positivity. "In any case, what did you call me for? Can't just be to make sure I'm not starving, can it? What, do you have a mystery for me to solve too?" Shinichi perceived silence on the other side of the line and wondered if she had hung up on him, but then she sighed and muttered something—though what, he couldn't quite make out. Puzzled, he waited for her answer.

"You stupid detective geek," she chastised long-sufferingly at length. The hand not holding her phone clenched into a fist, slowly disfiguring the metal of the bench beneath her fingers. "You know, sometimes people actually call other people to see how they're doing. We rarely speak to each other outside of these phone calls. Is it too much of me to ask you to divulge some of your life every once in a while?"

"…I do make sure you don't worry."

"But not enough!" Ran snapped. Shinichi flinched away from the phone slightly. "I know how lonely it is over there—you don't have any friends at your university from what I can make out of your sparse descriptions of your life, and every time we talk it's about how tired you are! All you do is work work work! I'm worried about you, you numbskull! I'm your childhood friend, I don't want to just use you as some deduction machine!"

Silence. Shinichi didn't quite know what to say, but he did know that an apology was in order. Unsurely, the detective tilted his head and murmured hesitantly into the phone.

"…Ran?" She didn't respond, and Shinichi winced. "Ran. Okay look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you just wanted to use me. It's just—agh, I don't know how to explain it—you know how my life is. When have I not been used to figure out cases? Right? Okay. It's all I do on a daily basis. I'm pessimistic. I'm an idiot. Ran-sama, I'm sorry, please forgive me I was a dumbass."

Ran still didn't say anything.

"Ran?" She couldn't use the silent treatment on him forever right? Not over the telephone?

"…You're still a dumbass, you idiot."

Shinichi sighed in relief. Finally. "You forgive me?" He asked hopefully.

The martial artist's voice took on a playful edge. "…Hmm, I don't know. Should I milk this for all it's worth or what…"

"Raaaaan, now you're just teasing me!"

Snorting, Ran responded, "So maybe I am. Serves you right."

Yeesh. Shinichi didn't have the mentality for this sort of thing. He was useless with emotions that didn't pertain to a motive to kill. He picked up his sandwich again when he realized that she wasn't angry anymore. "Well, if you must know all of the nitty gritty details of my life, there isn't much to say other than my life sucks."

"Oh really."

"Mhmm," he murmured around a bite of turkey. "So if you really must know, I will tell you that recently two knew rookies joined the First Division."

"I can see where this is going," Ran deadpanned.

Shinichi nodded sagely. "Oh yes, and while it's against my moral code to deem any person useless, they're about pretty close."

"Ah."

"Yes, _ah_."

Ran paused. "That's it? Nothing else?" She shook her head and stood from the bench. A quick glance at the clock told her that her twenty minutes were almost up.

"Well, the other day one of them tried to solve the investigation on his own." Shinichi shrugged. "He failed spectacularly." He finished off the last few bites of his sandwich and reached for his coffee. Just as he took a sip, Shinichi perceived something red from the corner of his eye. "AHH!"

Ran blinked and looked at her phone in bemusement. "Shinichi?"

Several miles away, Shinichi gaped at the red card sitting on his plate. It sat pristinely in the crumbs, mocking him. "Another one!"

"Another what?" Ran frowned and felt her brows furrow. "Shinichi, what are you talking about?"

Shinichi pointed at the card despite knowing that Ran couldn't possibly see it. "This is the twelfth one this week—I can't believe I forgot about these!"

"Twelfth what? Shinichi, you're not making any sense!"

"These stupid heart cards! I was fine with them before but now I'm finding these heart cards everywhere and it's driving me mad!"

Shinichi glared at the offending card and wondered how on earth he could have possibly forgotten them.

Maybe the police were getting to him more than he thought.

.

Ran sipped at her drink and raised her brow at her childhood friend. Across from her, Shinichi sighed and grimaced.

"So someone's been stalking you and leaving these elaborate heart shaped cards everywhere you go?" She questioned, swirling her cup of juice around.

"…I wouldn't say stalking," he said gingerly.

"This person is leaving stuff inside your house and in your food, clothing and briefcase. They're stalking you."

"…I don't really think—"

"Do you think it's one of your fangirls? I don't believe your home address has been leaked to the press, but still; this person must be really devoted…"

"I'm not being stalked," Shinichi protested miserably, futile in the face of Ran's stubbornness. "Okay maybe I am, but it's not that much of a problem."

As he nursed his coffee (what else?) he observed the people around him. It was rather late in the afternoon, so the café wasn't too packed. Around him, friends cajoled one another and couples whispered in each other's ears. Shinichi spotted two boyfriends in a corner and blinked when they saw him and waved. Oh, he recognized them from university but they'd never once spoken to him. He didn't know they were together.

Ran plucked the swirly straw from her drink and sucked on the end. She brandished it before her and pointed it at his face. "Isn't this enough to warrant police activity?"

"Oh gods no—I don't want people I work with to go peeking into my life!"

"This is kind of serious, though," she mused, tapping the straw against her cheek. "But fair enough. So? What are you going to do about it?"

Shinichi downed his coffee in one go and waved for a waitress in order to order another one. "I'll just try to find out who this person is on my own," he admitted. "I'm just curious as to how they're getting past my security systems—"

"You have security systems?" Ran asked, somewhat fascinated.

"—and leaving these cards where they are without alerting me. I don't particularly care if this person is arrested, but honestly? I'd rather meet this person and ask why they're doing this than put them behind bars." The young man sighed and carded a hand through his neat hair.

Ran watched as he mechanically grabbed for his new cup of coffee and similarly drank it all at the same time. Somewhat queasy, as she wouldn't dare drink hot coffee so quickly—and black, nonetheless!—the college student finished her own juice. She put down her cup.

"…Huh?" Blinking, Ran picked up what she had previously thought was a coaster and stared at it. Shinichi wasn't looking; he was watching a couple in the far corner. She carefully turned it over and read the golden inking on the back. "'Shin-chan, how are you? I hope this card finds you well. You haven't seen me lately, and I'm feeling lonely. Come visit me! My life is so boring without you!'"

Shinichi's head snapped back so quickly Ran could've sworn he gave himself whiplash. "What? What are you holding?" He reached for the card and she relinquished it from her grasp. His eyes ran down the lines inked in flourishing gold.

The man threw the card into the air and groaned. "You see this? Do you see this?!"

Tentatively, Ran picked the card up from the ground and dusted it off. She turned it over in her fingers. It really was pretty, the paper shining a soulful, bleeding red. It was simple, something typical love letters (or whatever this was) never were. If not for the fact and manner of the cards appearing in the oddest and most improbable places, Ran would call the gesture romantic. She would personally love to get one of these herself.

Just… minus the implied creeping.

Glancing back to Shinichi and smirking a bit at how frazzled he was, Ran smacked his cowlick with the card. "Well, now I've seen firsthand how odd this is. So? I repeat my question: what are you going to do about this? You can't just complain about this forever, you know."

Shinichi groaned from underneath his arm barrier. "This is an insult to my deductive powers!"

"Oh, and you should be able to tell who this person is at a first glance, shouldn't you? You should be able to discover who your stalker is, unlike _millions_ of other people before you who have to call in the police to sort it out."

"…Ran, your snark is unappreciated."

"Oh yeah, maybe if you shook hands with everyone you meet you'll find out who your mystery stalker is."

"Ran!"

"Hmph." She grunted. "I could just follow you around all day and beat up whoever comes within a ten foot radius of you." The karate master crossed her arms and huffed, blowing the fringe in her face away. "Something tells me this isn't bothering you as much as it should. Well, in the creepy sense anyway."

Shinichi sighed and removed his arms from the table. "You're right. It's not that I'm getting freaked out over someone without a presence knowing everything about my schedule (though that is pretty creepy), it's that I'm annoyed with he fact that this has been going on for just over a week and I still can't figure out who this is." He rubbed his temples. "If I really was worried over something like this, I'd take the problem to Megure-keibu. But so far I haven't been missing anything. The cards don't hinder me. There's no real harassment—in fact, I'd like to say that they bring a bit of happiness back into my life, as cheesy as that sounds."

"You're right. That is pretty cheesy."

"Ran!"

She giggled and flicked his forehead with her straw. "Don't blame me for your inner poet coming to light. That really was ultra cheesy."

Shinichi made to retaliate with his coffee stirrer, but the vibration of his cellphone caused him to pause. "I'll get you for this," he vowed balefully, and swiped his thumb across the screen. "Hello?"

"I—eh, I'm not sure if you've heard already, Shinichi-kun, but Kaitou KID held a heist in Beika last night eight o'clock." Megure-keibu's distorted voice floated out of the phone, a somewhat awkward roughness tinting his words. Shinichi blinked slowly and nodded to himself, pulling from his breast pocket a small notebook.

"Ah, hai…" he muttered as Ran ignored him and turned the red card over in her fingers again. She'd learnt long ago to tune out any pertinent conversations relating to the police whenever Shinichi was concerned. "Yes… Ah, no, I'm rather busy right now, but… Huh? Seriously?" Shinichi's eyes narrowed, and Ran glanced up, startled by the sudden change of inflection. His pen scratched across the page, semi-neat scrawl lacing the paper with wet black ink.

At the end of the conversation, the detective gnawed on his writing utensil and stared hard at his notebook, barely noticing Megure-keibu's last few words.

"…If you figure anything out, Shinichi-kun, then call, okay? Anything at all will help." With that, the inspector cut his connection, and Shinichi was left in silence.

Ran appeared beside him, hesitantly patting his shoulder. He flinched. "Shinichi, what's wrong?" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and darted a look back to the phone in his hand. "What did Megure-keibu say?"

It took Shinichi a while, but he finally answered.

"…Aa. Last night, as you might know due to being friends with Sonoko," her began haltingly, "there was supposed to be a typical Kid heist."

Ran frowned and furrowed her brow. "Did something happen?"

Sighing, Shinichi reclined in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Everything went fine at first, apparently. Kid taunted the police. He played pranks. Stole the gem. …Kaitou Kid was shot."

Ran choked. "What?!"

Pursing his lips now, Shinichi glanced back at his notebook. "It's not the first time suspicious people have been aiming at that thief," he conceded, though it was more for his reassurance than hers, "but it's the first time he's been shot. And from the sky at that."

"Kaitou Kid's been shot from the sky?!" Ran blurted before he could tell her not to. Many looks turned to their table, and the martial artist flushed, smiling awkwardly at them. She hastily apologized and sat down. "What do you mean he's been shot?" She continued in a harsh whisper.

Shinichi paused. Why was he telling her this? The fact that a certain moonlight magician had been shot and gone AWOL wasn't exactly… civilian knowledge. That said, Shinichi and Kogorou had never been people to conform to that rule; as a matter of fact, Ran probably knew more of cases and police cases than the average civilian legally should.

Ah well. He could tell her. If he didn't, she'd probably bash his skull in. Wonderful, oh so violent Ran.

"Sometime during the heist," Shinichi began as he shakily waved for another cup of coffee, "Nakamori-keibu—ah, you know him, right? The man that's head of the Kid task force—began to notice that Kid was acting a little odd. He thought that the thief was acting rather tense, not as jokingly as usual, and so kept an eye on him. After stealing the Cautious Eye, Kid escaped to the roof as he usually did. Nakamori-keibu laid in wait to capture, but before he could so much as make a noise, a man in a trench coat began shooting at Kid." Shinichi's lips turned down at this. "Kid dodged them all, foolishly taunted that man, and knocked him down with a few shots of his card gun. He made for the sky after that."

Ran watched with growing unease as Shinichi sighed once more. "…But the man was just faking," she demurred, inferring the outcome. The martial artist took note of the morose expression upon his face. "The moment Kid took flight, he was shot."

"…Hm." The two sat in silence.

"You're his friend, aren't you?" Ran's eyes slid to where his hand sat clenched on the table. "That's why you're so worried."

Shinichi blinked owlishly before squawking almost comically. "What? No! I'm not—he's not my friend!" His face flushed, regaining the color he had lost. "No, really! He's just a stupid phantom thief!"

Ran inwardly smiled, as at least he seemed to be feeling better from the change of topic. She smirked and leaned forward. "And he's a stupid phantom thief that you're obsessed with," she said simply.

Denying her claims, Shinichi frantically shook his head. "How did being friends with Kaitou Kid jump to being obsessed with him?" The detective hid his red face in his hands and turned away. His childhood friend laughed as the tips of his ears reddened.

"Don't tell me you aren't!" She laughed and leaned back. "You go to his heists almost every time he has one even remotely near Beika. You hide in wait at his most probable escape route and chat with him!"

"How do you—no I don't!" Shinichi grabbed the red, nearly forgotten card and held it over his face. His index finger pointed at his rough estimate of where her face was. "Don't make things up, we're just rivals! Rivals, I tell you!"

Ran's cheshire grin grew as she watched him try to hide from her scrutiny. "And rivals are usually friends…" she singsonged. "Besides, haven't you two known each other for nearly half a decade now?" The young woman made to pry the card from his fingers but stopped short as her eyes caught on gold and she read the message once more.

_'You haven't seen me lately, and I've been feeling a little lonely_.' She turned the words over in her head, the metaphorical gears within her mind turning.

_You haven't seen me lately._ Hadn't Shinichi been rather busy as of late? For the past three months, he'd holed himself up in his home and simply worked the days and nights away, only leaving to head to university classes. Ran pondered on the subject, tapping her chin. She stole a glance at Shinichi, but he continued to sulk from behind the card.

Shinichi had been busy. …He hadn't gone to any Kid heists either, had he? He worked with the first division—a sudden rise in crime, higher than usual, had kept him from attending any. Then that meant that…! Delighted with her new discovery, Ran giggled and pulled out her phone. What the heck, Shinichi was just so dense!

Wait, did that mean that Kaitou Kid _liked_ Shinichi? As in, her childhood friend, super ultra mega romantically dense you-could-slap-him-in-the-face-with-it-and-he-wouldn't-know-dense Shinichi?

Good gods, she thought, slightly dazed. Poor Kid.

A loud noise jolted the young woman from her thoughts, and Ran blinked at the face of her amused childhood friend. "Thinking hard about something?" He asked jokingly. "Or hardly thinking at all?"

Rolling her eyes and huffing, she snatched the card from his slack fingers and waved it in his face. "Rather, I was thinking about who this mysterious stalker might be," she replied snidely. "I've figured it out, just so you know."

The detective's azure eyes widened, and Ran smirked superciliously. Hah! Who was the detective now? "What do you mean, you've figured it out? You know who—no, wait, don't tell me," he muttered into the palm of his hand. "I can figure it out on my own." Who could it be? Shinichi's thoughts whirled, but he just couldn't think of who it could be; if Ran knew who it was, it couldn't be a random stalker. It had to be someone he knew—who they both knew. Who was it?

Who in the world could be leaving him these thrice damned heart-shaped cards?

.

Ten feet away from the couple, Kuroba Kaito fiddled with a mug of hot chocolate and tried not to snigger. With his poke face in full play, the moonlight magician seemed to the world a simple, good-natured college student who minded his business. Kaito stole out-of-the-corner glances at his target's table as he waited for his drink to cool. Yes, alone at his table, no one would guess who he was; and yet, is shoulders shook with his mirth. Hurrying to control his subconscious actions, the part-time thief, full-time magician extraordinaire gulped down his drink in order not to blow his cover. Unfortunately, the hot chocolate seized his throat with fiery pain on the way down, and the resulting wheezing and coughing drew the attention of the blue-eyed martial artist a table away.

Ran paused in between laughing at Shinichi's terribly serious face and eating her mango ice cream to notice an unusually familiar young man cough harshly into his hand. Awfully worried, though she didn't quite know why—she didn't know him, after all—Ran stood abruptly from her seat and strode over to the man with messy hair.

"Hello?" She inquired tentatively. "Are you okay? Should I call a doctor?" The young man's face was hidden from her view as he hunched over and tried not to hack his lungs out. She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder and jerked back when his muscles tensed to the hardness of steel beneath her fingers. Flexing her hand, Ran's eyes narrowed. The young woman recognized the familiar feel of bandages and gauze on broken skin.

Just as Ran was about to apologize to the injured stranger, Shinichi appeared beside her elbow, pulling on her shirt. With a wary eye, the detective peered into the nearly empty mug of chocolate took a cautious sniff. Nothing. No detectable poison. His gaze shifted to the young man (ambidextrous, twenty or thereabouts, lean physique, athletic—gymnastics, maybe?) and pressed a hand to the shoulder that Ran had not attempted to hold, having noticed his pain when she had done so earlier.

He seemed familiar, Shinichi mused. And apparently, Ran thought the same thing, he noticed as she fussed over him. Once the young man was able to stop coughing, Ran handed him a glass of water and rubbed his back, careful not to even graze the area of injured flesh.

"Are you fine now?" Shinichi asked neutrally. "You should have thought better than to chug down a cup of hot chocolate that had been boiling only moments prior." Shinichi wasn't amused, per se, merely… mildly entertained and slightly sympathetic. There had been many occasions when he himself had just woken from a three hour sleep, gone to make coffee, and drunken the entire pot without realizing the temperature until too late.

Startled, Ran stopped her mothering and peered at Shinichi's calm mien. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men before settling on the ruffled nest of hair on the stranger's head. His shoulders seemed to shake in either pain or mirth.

Inwardly, Kaito panicked.

"…Ah—ahaha…" A distinctly calloused hand rose to cover the injured man's mouth, and both childhood friends exchanged glances when his abrupt and slightly manic laughter did not cease for nearly a minute. "Oh—oh no, don't mind me," he rasped in between bouts of laughter, "the sudden rush of hot caffeine to my system has done some wonky things to me," he lied naturally. The shock of the two appearing before him without his hat and monocle between them as a barrier had startled him greatly. Really, he wasn't ready for this! What would happen if Shinichi found out? What would happen then? Surely, he'd be thrown in jail, no matter how much the detective could tolerate him!

After some time, Kaito finally inclined his head to meet their eyes once the faux laughter died down. "I'm sorry about that," he said mock-ruefully, though Shinichi and Ran didn't quite know about the 'mock' part. "Thank you for your worries, but that was just my own brand of stupidity. I'm Kuroba Kaito, by the way, aspiring top magician." The indigo-eyed man grinned lopsidedly to mask his fluttery nerves and procured two flush roses between his fingers, presenting one to both detective and martial artist. They blinked numbly as they took the proffered flowers.

At that exact moment, three very different thoughts ran through each of their minds.

Rather unsure of how to take the situation, Shinichi smiled bemusedly and held the bright orange rose limply in his hand. Perhaps something odd had been in that chocolate. Was this man… certifiably sane?

(Well certainly not, but Shinichi didn't need to know that.)

Kaito marveled over the fact that Tantei-kun had taken his rose and ohmygodhewassocutelookingconfused. Ah, poker face, poker face!

Ran tried not to burst into laughter as she fought to keep from accidentally crushing the vibrant yellow rose between her fingers, because that could just not _not_ be Kaitou Kid with the way he _leered_ at her best friend. And seriously? An _orange_ rose?

Kami help Shinichi if he couldn't figure it out within the week.

.

Shinichi crept around the corner of his room, eyes narrowed and piercing. The perfectly azure orbs gleamed in the darkness and shifted from the door to the pillow on his bed to his wardrobe. The young man gulped silently and searched every nook and cranny of his home for another of those cards. Every day he would do this. Every day he'd find going upwards to twenty stashed in improbable and startling places.

The day after Shinichi had met with Ran, he'd noticed an odd change to the number of cards that he'd found simply lying in spots where he had gone before. There had been very little at all. Puzzled, and slightly irritated because_ no stalker could just leave those cards and then disappear without him finding out who it was—he was a __**detective**__, damn it_, Shinichi rifled through his things and immediately came upon a plain, undecorated heart in the breast pocket of his usual suit jacket.

Then he'd found another one, taped to the side of his milk carton. And another one inside his complete compilation of Sherlock Holmes part one, innocently bookmarking A Scandal in Bohemia. And another one after that, inside his sock drawer.

He'd cracked an egg into a pan and thrown the metal instrument out of his window because no eggs should be able to fit a perfectly unruffled heart-shaped card inside it that was three times its diameter.

So, quite frankly, Shinichi had become _paranoid_.

Not a good thing, all things considered.

Bringing a hand to his temple, Shinichi resisted sighing and threw on a random jacket from his closet. He needed to get out some more; any longer and he'd succumb to the madness permeating the home. As it was, Shinichi couldn't bear to move to his library and simply work anymore. Prior to the stalking, he had liked the dome-shaped room for its simplicity and silent, work conducive nature. Now, as the majority of the cards could be found there, the weary college student tried not to spend too much time within the room other than to root out the aforementioned cards in the first place.

Still, his work begged to be done, and Shinichi stifled a yawn that threatened to crack his face in half. He had four hours until midnight to finish another mammoth essay due at the strike of the clock. Perhaps he could head to the public library for—no, the library closed in five minutes, so he wouldn't have time. Likewise, all of the restaurants that he knew of were closed at this hour. Feeling his brow furrow, Shinichi grabbed his briefcase. He couldn't go to any other place. And yet, he loathed to go into the library and be distracted by another heart shaped card that would inevitably find itself in a book that he would have to look up. It was a lose-lose situation.

His stomach growled, and the blinked, looking down to stare at it. Was he really so ravenous? When was the last time he had eaten anything? Shinichi wracked his brain for any scrap of a memory including eating and came up short.

_What the… have I really been so engrossed in finding these cards that I forgot to eat_? Rather, it was only a natural occurrence; Shinichi usually forgot to eat even with people reminding him.

The detective bit his lip and cocked his head in contemplation. For the entire week he'd eaten out to save on cooking time. His kitchen had spent the days woefully devoid of any food other than coffee, and by now he was tired of not eating a home-cooked meal. He supposed he could go to the market and grab some groceries (at eight o'clock?), then rush back home, cook something up and work in the kitchen. But then, would he have enough time?

Shinichi glanced plaintively in the direction of his briefcase and poked it immaturely. It was probably one of the firsts in his life—he didn't want to work. Which, actually, wasn't too unusual for normal people, but this came from the man who had spent two years as a six-seven-going-on-eight-year-old child, actively hunting down a criminal organization hellbent on achieving world domination. He hadn't rested at all during _that_ time, and his body had just—it wouldn't stop working.

But… He was so _tired_ of working. A thought came, spontaneously jerking Shinichi wide awake. What good was attending university? He knew all of the material there by heart and even actively helped _teach_ his criminology class on a weekly basis. Going to classes was a mere formality. Why should he continue to waste his time away in classes he already knew? It would look good on his resume, definitely, but _he didn't need one_. Eighteen-year-old Kudou Shinichi had been famous for taking down a massive criminal organization with nothing but the help of a few CIA officials. It stood to reason that a twenty-year-old Shinichi would be smarter, more capable—as stated before, any agency would snap him up the second before he announced anything.

He didn't have to go to college. It was that simple. He'd amassed a great enough fortune during his time in the workforce-that-wasn't-really-working-but-he-was-paid, and the Kudou family had more money than it knew to do with, what with his mother and father being famous a famous actress and writer respectively. One degree wouldn't matter. There was absolutely no reason at all.

He should have realized earlier.

Shinichi burst out in hysterical laughter, falling back onto the worn covers of his bed. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, and his face flushed a bright pink, arms wrapping around his stomach. What was this? He'd been complaining so much recently. He'd forgotten the feeling of pushing and pushing and pushing for a goal to accomplish, something to strive for, something to do for the sake of doing. Why hadn't he realized, he wondered. This wasn't the life he wanted to live.

Kudou Shinichi couldn't waste his life away sitting at a desk. The Detective of the East wouldn't have it.

Stagnation no longer rotted his mind, and the world had suddenly become so _clear_.

.

Up in a tree just outside of Shinichi's room, Kaito lowered his binoculars and stared at the window, a blank expression on his face. Tantei-kun… He certainly looked happy. His laughter was unrestrained. A bright smile stretched across his revitalized face. And yet… a hint of self-loathing teased at the corner of his lips. The formerly shrunken detective seemed terribly unhinged.

Kaito frowned. Was this a good thing? What could the detective be thinking?

Shinichi tumbled out of his doorway in a flurry of shoes, curses and papers, and Kaito slipped from his seat, alighting on the ground. The bag in his hand crinkled slightly and a ray of moonlight hit the contents just so, that the cards within seemed effervescent.

No time to waste, then, Kaito mused. He snuck in through the window.

.

"You—ah, Kuroba-san, right? What brings you to downtown Beika?" Shinichi smiled pleasantly at the magician and waved his hand. "No, don't tell me," he said amusedly, "the Kid heist, right?"

Kaito blinked, then smirked. "So what tipped you off?" Dressed in a plain set of black casual clothing, he'd be hard to make out in the midst of the bustling crowd; it was a wonder that Shinichi had. "For all you know, I could just be here to appreciate the fine gems," he stated airily, staring directly into Shinichi's absurdly clearcut and piercing eyes. A fine, nearly unnoticeable shiver traced down his spine. How was it that the detective wasn't even trying, and yet still made him so self-conscious?

Shinichi laughed and scratched his cheek. "You're right, but you honestly can't expect me to believe you, can you? I could barely make you out of all of those people, but you certainly weren't interested in any jewels."

Deciding to push the luck he was known for, Kaito leaned forward and tapped his temple with a thin index finger. "Ah, but not all beautiful things are crystalline rocks. I happen to find your eyes rather ravishing."

…Wait, did he really just say _ravishing_?

"…Um." Shinichi spluttered and tilted his head to the side unsurely, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks and down his neck. Kaito tried not to notice, he really did, but his gaze focused on it like a hawk, hopefully undiscovered by the detective. …Just how far did that blush _go_, anyways?

"Thank…you…?" Shinichi coughed. He tried to keep from admiring the way the magician's indigo eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the helicopter lights playing off of his sleek brunet hair. The tangled brown locks were extremely messy, he noted shrewdly, and upon closer inspection their faces were rather similar as well. They could pass for twins, actually, with just their eye colors differing. "Your, ah, eyes are rather gorgeous as well," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Kaito's hand, which was in the middle of tousling his unruly locks, froze.

…Wait, did Tantei-kun just say gorgeous back?

Nearly hyperventilating, Kaito grinned and ignored the elated butterflies in his stomach. Or was it his rambunctious doves? Either way, it was only years of experience that kept his poker face from slipping through his fingers.

"Why thank you, Ta—Kudou-san!" He gushed, slinging an arm around his detective's shoulders. "I've been called many, many (usually bad) things before, but never gorgeous!"

Once again fumbling for words, Shinichi tried to duck under the surprisingly wiry arm. "I—I didn't call you gorgeous, I just called your eyes—"

Kaito's laughter cut him off. "But you have to admit, I am rather handsome, aren't I? We have the same face!"

"No—you—I—in any case, I have to get to work!" Shinichi twisted and bent Kaito's arm away firmly, though not roughly. He persevered to hide his ruffled expression from the thief, and readjusted his necktie. "Now then, Kuroba-san," he said gruffly, "I suppose I shall be seeing you some other time."

Shinichi tried not to sigh as he strode away calmly and without opposition. However, once he walked about five feet, his arm was jerked back into the grasp of a calloused hand. Kaito narrowed his eyes and turned the detective to face him.

"Work?" He demanded. "What kind of work are you dealing with?" He hadn't heard of this! He'd spent the entire day preparing for the heist after sticking maybe thirty hearts around Shinichi's house and workplace. He hadn't seen the former faux child for nearly a day now.

Frowning, Shinichi broke away from the hold. "If you must know," he shrugged irritably, "I'm working as an advisor for the Kid Task force for today. Gods know that insufferable thief must be feeling weak right now, what with his injury."

Eyes widening in shock, Kaito's heart stopped, and his hand twitched subconsciously, about to grab his aching wound. "…Injury?" He breathed. They knew? They knew he had been shot?

Shinichi cursed and turned away. Damn it. He hadn't meant to reveal that info. "Never mind," he growled harshly. "I never meant to tell you—forget that immediately!"

"No, wait—"

"I need to get going, Kuroba!" The detective and hurried off to his station and disappeared into the mass of onlookers. Kaito, feeling rather vulnerable, shook off his shock and slipped away to do his work.

.

Shinichi hit the heel of his palm against his forehead. Damn it! Why had he blurted that out? It was all Kuroba's fault, he knew—those indigo eyes made him far too trusting. He hadn't meant to seek the eccentric man out of the crowd either, but something within his body had overtaken him. One glance at the people and that mop of hair had sent him careening into the mass.

As for Kaitou Kid, the man was an idiot! It had only been a week since the heist prior, and the insane thief wanted to try for another?! Idiocy! Kid should be resting, not flying on hang gliders and provoking the police—he should have at least allowed the wound to heal first. One week was definitely not long enough for a bullet wound to heal.

Ah, no, wait, it wasn't like he cared or anything—okay whatever. So fine! Shinichi was worried for the wily phantom with the logic of a troll. He wasn't going to admit it verbally though, so hah!

…Why was he talking to himself again?

Groaning, Shinichi strode down the halls of the museum, passively greeting random members of the Kid task force. With his luck, the thief had hidden himself among them and infiltrated the ranks. Mentally shrugging, as Shinichi didn't quite care one way or another, he bypassed them all and headed to the display room.

The Pendant of the Key sat proudly upon a plush, velvet cushion, sparkling beneath the ray of lights shining down from the ceiling. Shinichi admired it for a moment, as the gem was perhaps the size of a small grapefruit; it most likely costed a fortune, as all gems did, and was quite beautiful. The golden case and chain paled in comparison, though complimented the iridescent violet sheen.

The shade reminded him of Kuroba's mischievous eyes, in fact…

Wait, why was he thinking about Kuroba?

The twenty-year-old shook his head wildly. No. It was bad enough that the man could get him as embarrassedly fluttery as a high school girl; to infest his thoughts was another thing altogether!

Still, Kuroba _had_ been correct. He was absolutely gorgeous…

No! Stop, Shinichi, stop! He could be Adonis reincarnated for all you care! Right? Stop thinking about the lean muscles of his arm, the tan skin of his exposed neck, the—

He might not even be gay! Shinichi's mind shouted at him, clearing his thoughts. That was right. The chances of Kuroba being gay or even bi were rather low. The thought calmed him somewhat, grounding him back to reality. And besides, Shinichi had better things to do than oggle handsome men. Just recently, The Card Infestation (yes, it had a name now) had worsened to the point where Shinichi suspected everything of holding a card. His favorite mug? Card. His loafers? Card. His underwear drawer? Actually, no, but his closet? Cards everywhere!

It was too much!

The young man jammed his hands into his pockets and felt his face twist into a grimace. How did the stalker do everything, anyways? The cards couldn't possibly have been able to be in the places where they had been. As he stewed in his thoughts, Shinichi cupped his chin and furrowed his brow. Something rustled in his right pocket, and his eyes diverted to his hands. He pulled them out.

A card's familiar weight sat in his palm, and he bit down the urge to scream in favor of flipping it over upon habit. This time, instead of displaying immature wheedling, the message was darkly serious. The card didn't seem all too different, but his keen eyes zeroed in on the slightly darker golden ink, the messy loops and swirls on card stock that screamed for his attention.

'Don't concern yourself with Kaitou Kid anymore.'

His demeanor changed instantly.

"Yo, Kudou-kun!" A large hand slapped Shinichi's shoulder, sending him stumbling forward and onto a passing guard. Awkwardly apologizing as he discreetly pocketed the card, he turned back to his assailant with a glare.

"Nakamori-keibu," he greeted stiffly, nodding. "Isn't it nearly time for the heist to begin? Shouldn't you be in place?" The boisterous man broke into laughter and waved the question off.

"I'll just be across the room anyways. Rather, what's up with you? Haven't seen your face at a heist in, what, five months?"

Shrugging, Shinichi replied, "Thereabouts. I hadn't had the time before, but I recently dropped out of college and my schedule just opened up."

Nakamori blanched. "You dropped out of college?!"

"I wasn't learning anything I didn't know already, and the lifestyle didn't suit me." The young man scratched his neck and glanced around the room passively. "So yeah, I figured I could help with the heist. …More importantly," he continued sotto voce, "You were there when Kid was shot, right? Did you get who shot him?"

His countenance darkening, the police chief nodded. "He's locked up in a high security cell. No one knows who he is—not in the national database, see—so we're banking on the theory that he's with the mafia. Could be part of a group with a grudge against Kid."

He glanced around, and noticed the grand clock nearly reach the appointed time. Nakamori jumped away and cursed, running off to his station.

Ten seconds. Shinichi's mind whirled with the newfound information.

Five seconds. He ran with a postulate, reviewing everything he knew of the thief already.

Two seconds. His mind, unbidden, brought up the hearts.

One—

"Ladies and Gentlemen~!" The lights rearranged themselves, dying with only a single spotlight centered on the speaker. "It's show time!"

Kid's heist had begun.

.

"Did you really have to stalk me for over a month?"

Kid froze and masked his surprise by using his momentum to swiftly turn around. Hand in his pocket, fingers automatically closed around his card gun, the magician grinned uneasily.

"Tantei-kun!" He greeted ecstatically, throwing his arms into the air as if to grab for a hug. His body darted forward, but his efforts only met with an almost soccer ball to the face. "Ouch, love, what was that for?"

Shinichi scowled and inflated another soccer ball, juggling it idly between his knees, feet and head. "That, baarou," he snarled irritably, "was for breaking and entering my home who knows how many times and invading my privacy." The ball suspended, airborne for maybe a split second longer than for juggling, and Kid only had a moment's notice to duck as it whizzed past him, toppling his hat over. A multitude of hearts flooded from his headwear.

Desperately trying not to display his nervousness, Kid raised his hands in order to placate the simmering man. "Ahaha, so you caught that, huh…"

"Yes. Yes I did," came the terse reply.

"Um, um, haha?"

Another inflated ball of doom narrowly missed his monocle. It crashed into the wall and destroyed the majority of the surface, sending plaster everywhere. Oh. Uh, wrong thing to say, huh?

"Now—now let's not be hasty, Tantei-kun! If you try to kill me any longer, I'm afraid the ceiling will come down!" Kid hastily backed away, terrified of getting even slightly grazed by one of those monsters. "I'm, ah, injured, you know? You know I was shot, right? You wouldn't harm lil' ol' me, would you? You have too many morals for that!"

The glower on Shinichi's face did not appease the phantom's fears in the slightest. "Oh," the detective began dangerously, "I'd reconsider that fact if I were you."

Kid gulped audibly. Was it him, or was Shinichi both terrifyingly hot and terrifyingly terrifying at the same time? He could only watch as the other man stalked forward in a predatory fashion, closing the distance between them. His mouth opened to plead for no maiming before a hand closed over his, causing his entire body to lock in place. What—

Almost nonchalantly, Shinichi tugged the glove away, throwing it over his shoulder with little care. His entire attention seemed focused on the tan, calloused fingers of Kid's hand, and his own slid into place, palm against palm. The detective's fingers pressed coldly against the magician's.

Bemused, Kid squeezed gently, inwardly relishing the first ever skin contact between the two, albeit with them both in a precarious situation on a random rooftop that he was sure the task force would discover and reach soon. Shinichi's smooth hand squeezed back. A moment of silence separated them.

"…I knew it." Shinichi leaned forward, head resting just above Kid's uninjured shoulder, forehead against the wall. Wait, wall? Since when had he been against the wall? Too tense to move, Kid stood there like a statue as Shinichi's breathing tickled the nape of his neck.

"Knew what?" The phantom barely managed to articulate. Their chests almost touched, and the unexpected proximity sent a heat permeating throughout his body. Good gods, did the detective even know what he was doing to him?

Almost as suddenly as the close contact had been initiated, Shinichi pulled back and took three steps back, leaving Kid feeling unusually empty. Kid almost protested—his mouth opened slightly—but Shinichi's severe, arctic eyes leveled with his, shocking him into silence.

"Kuroba-san," he began, much to the magician's stupefaction and budding hysteria, "should I inquire as to why you've been leaving me these cards?" Like Kaito's own sleight-of-hand, Shinichi procured one from his sleeve at lightning speed. The gold lining glinted in the moonlight, sending the thief's heartbeat into a skittering frenzy.

No. Nonono. Kaito wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready. How could—why? Why had Shinichi been able to discern his identity? They'd only just met a week ago! Kaito couldn't bear with the ramifications of his status as Kaitou Kid. When he had begun to send in the hearts it had been a side project of sorts—it wasn't supposed to mean anything other than the resultant annoyance of his lov—_affection_. The detective was never supposed to find out.

Kaito began to hyperventilate. His vision swam. The bones in his legs lost the ability to bear his weight, and absently the man noticed the ground come rushing up.

"Oi—hey, Kuroba! Kai-Kaito!" _No_. He wasn't supposed to know. He wasn't supposed to know. The detective had only taken down his own organization two years ago, he didn't have to deal with Kaito's, _he had never been meant to discover the truth_.

Not of Kaito. Not of Kaito's love.

Something curiously gentle and slightly chapped pressed against his lips.

…Huh?

"Mhmph—!" Kaito's arms flailed before he melted into the kiss, falling against Shinichi's chest. His eyes fluttered shut, and automatically, his arms wound around his detective's neck. The kiss was simple, pure, and chaste, like the white roses he so adored and admired. All he could feel was the warmth of their lips, and the comfort spreading throughout his body, the amenity slowly traveling to his fingers to his fingers, to his curled toes, to his spine that arched back in a needy whine.

Shinichi pulled back. "I—um, sorry." A panicked look filled his eyes, and he turned away, hand over his mouth. "You weren't responding to my calls, and you were hyperventilating. I didn't know what else to do. I mean, I don't think you disliked it, but—"

Kaito crushed Shinichi against his body, clutching the man as tightly as he could.

"Kaito, I—"

"I think I love you."

The detective started. "…I gathered."

"I really love you."

"…Yes."

"I love you so much it freaking hurts, but you aren't supposed to know about me."

"…Mm. …Am I, by any chance, in danger of being hunted down by a crazy crime syndicate hellbent on an impossible goal?"

"…"

"I see. It's no problem then. I can take care of myself. You know this."

"…"

"So was this the only reason?"

"Reason for what?"

"Why, after so many years of having been kept in the dark of your identity I am only now finding out? And only because I wasn't actively trying to discover your identity, just the stalker's? And why you stalked me in the first place?"

"…Um."

"You're a hopeless romantic, Kid."

Kaito whined into Shinichi's collarbone. "You called me Kaito earlier."

"Well, I'm used to calling you Kid, not Kaito, baarou," Shinichi retorted.

"Get used to it, then."

"Only if you give me a chance to."

"Isn't the hugging and confession enough? Actually, shouldn't I be demanding that of you?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Then we're… dating now?" The azure-eyed man questioned, testing the word in his mouth. _Dating_. It certainly sounded nice, now that he had someone to relate it to. He absently fingered the card in his hand.

"Dating. Would you look at that." Kaito slowly released his arms and looked down at Shinichi's hands. "Hmm? Is that…?" The phantom snatched the heart away. "It is!"

Shinichi flushed and scrambled to get it back. "Oi, Ki—Kaito! Give it back! Give me back my heart!"

Laughing, Kaito twirled out of the way and poofed onto the ledge. He raised the pristine card up to the light. It was the first one Shinichi had ever gotten. Kaito wondered why exactly the man had kept it with him all this time, but he was grateful. This was the stupid card that had started situation in the first place.

"Never!" The thief teased, waving it in front of his face, "I have stolen your heart and I shall never return it!"

"What are you, a pirate!" Shinichi lunged.

The two fell off the building.

.

.

.

"What the heck is this?!" Kaito threw his arms in the air and gestured to the heart shaped card he had found inside his trouser pocket. His left hand held the card. His right held a box of gourmet chocolates.

Shinichi nonchalantly flipped a page of his novel. "This," he stated apathetically, not bothering to glance in his boyfriend's direction, "is what happens when you live with a kleptomaniac with a penchant for magic tricks and flair for two months."

"But Shin-chan!" Kaito protested, "The stalking is _my_ thing!"

"Be happy that I made them myself. Happy Valentine's Day. Now shut up and eat your chocolates."

FIN

.

OMAKE

"Tantei-kun."

"If I'm going to have to call you Kaito, you should call me Shinichi."

"Fine then. Shinichi."

Sigh. "What?"

"Hey, what's with that sigh? It's not 'cause of me, is it?"

"…Nope."

"Good!"

"In any case, Kaito, what do you want?"

"Oh! Right. I, um, just wanted to know how you knew that it was me."

"What was you?"

"Me! That day we started dating!"

"Oh. That."

"How could you forget!"

"I held your hand."

"Yeah! You held—"

"No, I mean the reason why I knew was because of your hands." Raised brow. "I can usually tell the basic lifestyle of a person if I grab their hand."

"…Oh. Okay. That's a pretty cool way to have found me."

"Hmm."

And somewhere miles away, Mouri Ran sneezed.


End file.
